Flora Lyndsay Volume I Part 19

It was near midnight before a breeze sprang up and dispelled the ominous fog. The moon showed her wan face through the driving scud, the sail was at last hoisted, and cold and hungry, and sick at heart, our voyagers once more returned to their old port.

This time, however, the beach was silent and deserted. No friendly voice welcomed them back. Old Kitson looked cross at being roused out of his bed at one o'clock in the morning, to admit them into the house, muttering as he did so, something about "unlucky folks, and the deal of trouble they gave; that they had better give up going to Canada altogether, and hire their old lodgings again; that it was no joke, having his rest broken at his time of life; that he could not afford to keep open house at all hours, for people who were in no ways related to him."

With such consoling expressions of sympathy in their forlorn condition, did the hard, worldly old man proceed to unlock the door of their former domicile; but food, lights, and firing, he would not produce, until Lyndsay had promised ample remuneration for the same.

Exhausted in mind and body, for she had not broken her fast since eight o'clock that morning, Flora for a long time refused to partake of the warm cup of tea her loving partner had made with his own hands for her especial benefit; and her tears continued to fall involuntarily over the sleeping babe which lay upon her lap.

Mr. Hawke saw that her nerves were completely unstrung by fatigue, and ran across the green, and called up Flora's nurse to take charge of the infant.

Mrs. Clarke, kind creature that she was, instantly hurried to the house to do what she could for the mother and child. Little Josey was soon well warmed and fed, and Flora smiled through her tears, when her husband made his appearance.

"Come, Flora," he cried, "you are ill for the want of food,-I am going to make some sandwiches for you, and you must be a good girl and eat them, or I will never cater for you again."

Mr. Hawke exerted all his powers of drollery to enliven the miscellaneous meal, and Flora soon retired to rest, fully determined to bear the crosses of life with more fort.i.tude for the future.

The sun was not above the horizon, when she was roused, however, from a deep sleep, by the stentorian voice of old Kitson, who, anxious to get rid of his troublesome visitors, cried out, with great glee,-"Hallo! I say-here is the right steamer at last.-Better late than never. The red flag is hoisted at her stern; and she is standing right in for the bay.

Quick! Quick, _Leaftenant_ Lyndsay! or you'll be too late."

With all possible despatch Flora dressed herself, though baffled by anxiety from exerting unusual celerity. The business of the toilet had to be performed in such a brief s.p.a.ce, that it was impossible to attend to it with any nicety. At last all was completed; Flora hurried down to the beach, with Hannah and Mrs. Clarke, James Hawke and Lyndsay having preceded them to arrange their pa.s.sage to the steamer.

"Make haste, Mrs. Lyndsay," shouted old Kitson; "these big dons wait for no one. I have got all your trunks stowed away into the boat, and the lads are waiting. If you miss your pa.s.sage the third time, you may give it up as a bad job."

In a few minutes Flora was seated in the boat, uncheered by any parting blessing but the cold farewell, and for ever, of old Captain Kitson, who could scarcely conceal the joy he felt at their departure. The morning was wet and misty, and altogether comfortless, and Flora was glad when the bustle of getting on board the steamer was over, and they were safe upon her deck.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE STEAMBOAT.

In spite of the early hour, and the disagreeable weather, a number of persons, glad to escape from the close confinement of the cabins, were pacing the deck of the steamer. Others were leaning over the bulwarks, regarding the aspect of the country they were rapidly pa.s.sing; while some were talking in small groups, in a loud declamatory tone, evidently more intent on attracting the attention of the bystanders than of edifying their own immediate listeners. Though bright eyes might look heavy, and fair faces languid and sleepy, vanity was wide awake, and never more active than in the midst of a crowd, where all are strangers to each other. It affords such a glorious opportunity for display for pretenders to rank and importance to show off their affected airs of wealth and consequence; and the world can lay bare its rotten heart, without much fear of detection, or dread of unpleasant results.

Flora sat down upon a bench beside her husband, and her eye ranged from group to group of those strange faces, with a mechanical, uninterested gaze. Here a pretty insipid-looking girl sauntered the deck with a book in her hand, from which she never read; and another, more vivacious, and equally intent on attracting her share of public notice, raved to an elderly gentleman, on whose arm she was leaning, of the beauty and magnificence of the ocean.

The young and good-looking of either s.e.x were flirting. The more wily and experienced coquetting after a graver fas.h.i.+on; while the middle-aged were gossiping to some congenial spirit on the supposed merits or demerits of their neighbours.

Not a few prostrate forms might be seen reclining upon shawls and cloaks, supported by pillows, whose languid, pale faces, and disarranged tresses, showed that the demon of the waters had been at work, and remorselessly had stricken them down.

Standing near the seat occupied by the Lyndsays, Flora observed a tall, fas.h.i.+onably-dressed woman, apparently about twenty-eight or thirty years of age. She was laughing and chatting in the most lively and familiar manner with a handsome, middle-aged man, in a military undress. The person of the lady was very agreeable, and though neither pretty nor elegant, was fascinating and attractive.

As her male companion constantly addressed her as Mrs. Dalton, we will call her by her name. When Mrs. Lyndsay first took her seat upon the deck Mrs. Dalton left off her conversation with Major F--, and regarded the new arrival with a long, cool, deliberate stare, which would have won a smile from Flora, had it not been evidently meant to insult and annoy; for, turning to the Major, with a glance of peculiar meaning, accompanied with the least possible elevation of her shoulders, she let slip the word-"_n.o.body_!"

"I am sure that _he_ is a gentleman, and, if I mistake not, an officer, and a fine intelligent looking man," remarked her companion, in an aside; "and I like the appearance of his wife."

"My dear Sir, I tell you that _she is n.o.body_. Look at that merino gown; what lady would venture on board these fine vessels, where they meet with so many _fas.h.i.+onable_ people, in such a dress?"

"A very suitable dress, I should say, for a sea voyage."

"Pshaw!" muttered Mrs. Dalton, "have done with your prudent Scotch sense of propriety. Who minds spoiling a good dress or two, when their standing in society is risked by appearing shabby? I tell you, Major, that she is _n.o.body_."

"Had you not told me that you had pa.s.sed the greater part of your life, Mrs. Dalton, in a British Colony, I could have sworn to the fact, from your last speech," said her companion: "you all think so much of dress, that with you it is really the coat which makes the man, and, I suppose, the gown which makes the lady. However, you shall have it your own way.

You know how easy it is for you to bring me over to your opinion."

"Do you think that a pretty woman?" she said, directing her husband's eyes towards the lady in question.

"Rather," he replied coldly, "but very worldly and sophisticated."

"I am glad to hear you say so," said Flora, like a true woman; "that is precisely the opinion I have formed of her. Is that officer her husband?"

"I should rather think not. Husbands and wives seldom try to attract public attention to themselves, as that man and woman are doing. I have no doubt they are strangers who never met before."

"Impossible!"

"Nothing more probable; people who meet on short journeys and voyages like this, often throw aside the restraints imposed by society, and act and talk in a manner which would be severely censured in circles where they are known. Were you never favoured by the autobiography of a fellow-traveller in a stage-coach?"

"Yes often, and thought it very odd that any one should reveal so much of their private history to a stranger."

"It is a common occurrence, originating in the vanity of persons who love to make themselves and their affairs the subject of conversation; and if they can but obtain listeners, never stop to question who or what they are."

"Ah, I remember getting into a sad sc.r.a.pe," said Flora, "while travelling from S-- to London in a stage-coach. It was one of these uncomfortable things which one hates to think of for the rest of a life, and yet so ridiculous that one feels more inclined to laugh over it than to cry, though I believe (for I was but a girl at the time), I did both.

"My fellow-pa.s.sengers were three gentlemen, one, to whom I was well known, the others perfect strangers. One of the latter, a very well-dressed but rather foppish, conceited young man, talked much upon literary matters, and from his conversation gave you to understand that he was on the most intimate terms with all the celebrated authors of the day. After giving us a very frank, and by no means just critique upon the works of Scott and Byron, whom he familiarly called, 'my friend, Sir Walter,' 'my companion, Lord Byron,' he suddenly turned to me, and asked me, 'if I ever read the S. Chronicle?' This was one of the county papers, I told him; that I saw it every week.

"'If that be the case,' said he, 'will you tell me what you think of the Rev. Mr. B.'s poems, which have from time to time appeared in its columns?'

"This reverend gentleman was a man with a very heavy purse and a very empty head, whose contributions to the county papers were never read but to be laughed at. Not having the slightest personal knowledge of the author, I answered innocently enough, 'Oh, he's a stupid, conceited fellow. It is a pity he has not some friend to tell him what a fool he makes of himself, whenever he appears in print. His poetry is such dull trash, that I am certain he must pay the Editor of the paper for allowing him to put it in.'

"Mr. C. was stuffing his handkerchief into his mouth, to avoid laughing out right; while the poor gentleman (for it was the author himself), drew back with a face alternately red and pale, with suppressed indignation. His feelings must have been dreadful, for, during the rest of his journey, he sat and regarded me with an air of such offended dignity, that I must have appeared to him like some wicked ogress, ready to devour, at one mouthful, him and his literary fame. He never opened his mouth to speak to any of us after I had made this unfortunate blunder, and I sat upon thorns, until a handsome plain carriage drove up to the coach about a mile from T., and relieved us of his company.

"This circ.u.mstance made me feel so uncomfortable, that I never ventured upon giving an opinion of the works of any living author to a stranger, without having a previous knowledge of the person of the writer."

"He deserved what he got, for his egregious vanity," said Lyndsay. "For my part, I do not pity him at all; and it afforded you a good lesson of prudence for the future."

At this moment a young negro lad, fantastically dressed, and evidently very much in love with himself, strutted past. As he swaggered along the deck, rolling his jet black eyes from side to side, and showing his white teeth to the spectators, an indolent-looking young man, dressed in the extreme of fas.h.i.+on, called languidly after him-

"Hollo, Blacky! What colour's the Devil?"

"White," responded the negro, "and sports red whiskers, like you!"

Every one laughed; the dandy shrunk back, utterly confounded; while the negro snapped his fingers, and crowed with delight.

"Hector, go down into the ladies' cabin, and wait there until I call for you," cried Mrs. Dalton, in an angry voice; "I did not bring you here to insult gentlemen."

"De Buckra affront me first!" returned the sable page, as he sullenly withdrew.

"That boy grows very pert," continued his mistress, turning to Major F.; "this is the consequence of the ridiculous stir made by the English people against slavery. The fellow knows that he is free the moment that he touches the British sh.o.r.es; and he thinks that he can show his independence by disobeying my commands, and being insolent to his superiors. I hope he will not take it into his head to leave me, for he saves me all the trouble of taking care of the children."